#bored muse

Rahab sat in his palace’s audience chamber, swelling the tip of his talon along the gilded rim of a silver chalice. The answering ring vibrating subtle ripples at the half-filling of carefully cultivated blood from a Turelim blood brood. 

It was a meek flavor, heavy of iron and a tinge of notable minerals. This is an obvious Turelim diet to build the body to their brutish stage in their evolutionary path. After the past couple generations, Rahab managed to tone the thickness to a less cloggy swallowing. Fruits and some vegetables from his isle’s plantation and export from his coastal colony beyond the sea with interbreeding with his own slaves.

Prized Melchahim slaves were often given a partial duty that help perfect their physical pleasantries, only to be flayed by the careful knives of their master. However, their blood was a tad thick from similar mineral treatment. If he was correct on what his Alukae have reported in, their bodies were cannibalized just as terribly as their flesh was. On that meek thought, Rahab shook his head in pity for his younger brother. 

Dumahim blood wasn’t the best but it had the needed quantities in their countless slaves to feed their legions and keep moving. Dumah never had the finesse nor patience for the careful breeding. As long as there was a controlled interbreeding among the population, he could care less. Ever decade or so, he would trade for other clans’ slaves.

Now, the one brother he could be appluad for in this lining of cultivation is Zephon. He treated his slaves remarkably better than the others, at least he used to. Rahab tightened his lips in the last visit to his immediate younger brother’s sanctum. He still have that urgent letter among the other that he always keep like precious jewels and heirlooms.

Zephonim slaves were more regulated and tolerated, even if they were rightully kept low in the food chain. Their bloods has a subtle difference between castes. The priesthood had a more sweetness to it, the sacrifical tributes they give. While he didn’t care much for catching some of his younger brother’s spies crawling in his territories, Rahab traded with him happily enough.

With these thoughts of blood cultivation, the Clan Lord inhaled softly to take another sip of his chalice. Drinking in deep to the last drop, each gulp sounding more gratifying than the last. “A good bounty.” He mused with a tongued trace of his rows of teeth.

“More, milord?” A tender voice inquired. Rahab didn’t need to look who it was, he knew every servant in his court and rose them like his own children. “Yes, Michael.” He answered, dipping his hand down to present his bejeweled cup to the tall, well-shaped Aquarius for the next filling. Nineteen winters old if the Elder vampire recalled, remarkably feathery chestnut hair, and that boyish charmed face equipped with the features of a slave from Raziel’s and his own original shared slave bloodlines.

The toned arms retreated their blood vessel when the chalice was at its long-stained amount and bright jade eyes gleamed at the practiced perfection. Seeing it, Rahab chuckles lightly in his throat and sipped once. The freshness glided at his slick throat.”Very good.” 

With his great webbed talons stroking through the soft waves of his vessel carriers hair, Rahab smiles benevolently as a father of these sheep should before redirecting his red eyes upon the rabid ram that graces his chamber. 

A sailor caught by the spring monsoon, the last of his crew from a ship of old Meridian design. The cargo was a shipment of weapons, powerful armaments that Rahab has never seen. Having just been reveled the tales of the war in his Father’s once stable empire, Rahab was both amused and inwardly furious in disappointment for both sides. He already received a letter from Turel about this.

Staring at the eviscerated man hanging over the moat by his ankles between the great court filled with mostly evolved vampires sitting along the crescent moon-shaped mosaic by three elevated rows at either of his heightened platform and himself resting by the stained glass depicting himself mimicking the clan symbol with a moon in talons. Heavy drapes pulled asunder to let the radiance of this deified artwork shine in the afternoon’s covered sky.

“As you can see, your race is perfectly safe and content under my rule.” The Patriarch finally addressed. Even with his grown snout, the culture and elegance still seethed through his words. “It is shameful to hear my brothers’ bickering couldn’t keep your anxiety and misplaced beliefs in check. Just know...I will correct that as my Father would have.”

So, I’ve been gone for such a long time, because life threw so much at me for being the last semester in school. so I have been soooooo busy. But I have conquered through and made it to finals week. I usually finish my test rather quickly so I have a lot of free time with paper and pencil. so what do I do? I write a chapter to my OC’s backstory! I’m currently converting them to the computer/ writing new chapters during these next two weeks. BUT, I’m back and ready to roll! 

If you want to read my story/ criticize it, Here is the link. I hope you enjoy!

He glances at his cell phone, checking to see if anyone has called. Nada.